That’s A Lotta Honkin’ Anger

I’m a new employee at the drive-thru window of my pharmacy. A rather notorious customer drives up. Legends in the pharmacy say that every time she’s in, she has a problem with something that results in a full-blown tantrum. She pulls up to the window.

Customer: “My doctor was supposed to have faxed over my scripts.”

After checking our fax machine, it’s clear that there’s nothing there.

Me: “Ma’am, do you know the name of the medication?”

She names one that is a controlled substance.

Me: “I apologize, ma’am, but the doctor cannot fax that script. It is required by law that they write it on a physical slip and have you bring it in.”

Customer: “No, my doctor faxed it last month.”

Me: “I’m sorry for any confusion about your medications, but there is no way a doctor can fax a prescription of that specific medicine without getting in serious trouble.”

I check the system and can see where she brought in the physical script last month and had it filled, but there are none current. Now there’s a line of cars behind hers.

Me: “Ma’am, could you please park and come in? I can show you a copy of what your script would look like so that if you misplaced it, you know what to look for.”

She starts laying on the horn in her anger, causing a five-second honk between every sentence.

Customer: “NO!” *Honk!* “MY DOCTOR FAXED IT IN!” *Honk!* “FILL IT AND GIVE IT TO ME NOW!” *Honk!* “CHECK THE FAX MACHINE AGAIN!” *Honk!*

Me: “It’s not there, ma’am. I already checked when you first asked, and now that I know the name of the medication, I also know for a fact that your doctor wouldn’t have faxed it.”

Now she’s honking and screaming. I learn a few new swear words, and I also learn that she has no understanding whatsoever about how anatomy works. She eventually calms herself a little as something occurs to her.

Customer: “Maybe it fell on the floor. Check the floor!”

Me: “Ma’am, it did not fall on the floor because it was not faxed over. It is illegal to fax a script for this medication.”

Now cars are hanging out into a busy street, waiting in line.

Customer: “CHECK. THE. FLOOR. NOW!”

I sigh, walk away from the window, lean against the nearest wall with my arms crossed for ten seconds, and then come back.

Me: “It’s not there. Like I told you. You need to bring the script in your hands. Please go home and call your doctor, because clearly, you left his office without your script. There’s nothing further I can do about it.”

Customer: “You call my doctor!”

Me: “I am not going to call your doctor because one of you forgot to get a controlled substance prescription. That’s between you and their office. Please go home and call your doctor.”

She screeches and starts banging on her steering wheel, randomly slapping the horn. The pharmacist gestures to me, indicating that it’s time to stop engaging with her.

Me: “Have a great night!”

When I walk away, indicating that she has reached the end of our interaction, she lays on the horn. She simply plants her hand on the horn and refuses to let up.

Pharmacist: “Huh. She’s unusually mellow tonight. Perhaps her medications are working.”

Me: *Pauses* “I don’t want to work on a bad night.”

In the end, the police had to be called to make her move her vehicle.